


Werewolves of Lindon

by Pollys_hymnia



Series: Elrond's Encyclopedia of Cryptozoology [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (hopefully) not kinslaying, And various vague creatures, Angst, Beleriand, Body Horror, Canon Divergence, Eating spiders, Finrod is a werewolf, Finrod/Maglor (if you squint), Gen, Himring, If you find a poor cursed elf wandering wild in Beleriand what do you do, M/M, Sad Finrod, Some Fluff, Werewolves, but there are references to Finrod's (canonical) death, not very shippy but you can read it that way if you want, obviously, sad middle earth cryptids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-23 01:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18539635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollys_hymnia/pseuds/Pollys_hymnia
Summary: Finrod, bitten by a werewolf, does die.  However, he awakens not in the Halls of Mandos as expected, but in Beleriand.  He himself is transformed into a werewolf.  As he attempts to flee his people, who should he run into but his own kinslaying cousins?





	Werewolves of Lindon

They had dumped his lifeless body into the waters of the Sirion, and that was supposed to be the end of it.  But it wasn’t.  Finrod’s body was torn and bloody, battered almost beyond recognition, but it was also changed.  He had fought the werewolf with tooth and nail, and the beast’s teeth and nails had clawed and bitten him in turn.  It was the bite, though, that had transformed him.  And although he had in fact died, he was reborn now as one of them.  When the next full moon rose, Finrod too arose as a werewolf.

In truth, Finrod would rather have died—it would have been cleaner than what was to come.  He could have had some rest, and the nightmare would have been over.  But some strange fate pursued him still, and drove him to pursue both the guilty and the innocent in his madness. 

He had only a hazy recollection of what had happened when he awoke in his own form—now heavily scarred, but it was his.  There was blood dripping from his mouth and it was that horrid metallic-salt taste which troubled his first moments of waking.  When he stirred, he looked around and found that he was in a forest somewhere, alone.  His clothes were gone, and he was filthy.  He was not hungry though, he knew he _had_ eaten, but did not like to think what or rather who.

Slowly, Finrod made his way to his feet and began to walk unsteadily between the trees.  He listened intently until he caught the sound of running water and made directly for it as near as he could tell.  Eventually, he came upon a stream where he washed himself and took a long drink. 

There he sat a while in thought, not knowing exactly where he was or what he should do next.  He considered returning to Nargothrond, but thought better of it until he learned more about what had happened.  And especially about what might happen next. 

No, he would not go south he decided, not now.  Instead, when his strength was somewhat recovered, he started to make his way east.

 

Finrod passed over the Ford of Brithiach and on through Dimbar.  He took care to travel out of the way of the main path, but he needn’t have bothered.  He met no one.  He next traveled into Nan Dungortheb.  It was while he journeyed in that dreaded valley that the full moon rose again, high overhead. 

Finrod watched in horror as first his nails and fingers lengthened into claws and hair sprouted up his arms and legs.  His form grew suddenly with the anguish of breaking bones and rending flesh.  His teeth sharpened and lengthened into fangs and the light of his clear eyes was darkened and yellowed. 

He let out a blood-curdling howl and ran heedless through the shadows, hunting anything that lived.  Even the fell spawn of Ungoliant fled from him in his fury.  But not all could outrun him, and he feasted even on their accursed flesh.

Finrod awoke, bewildered and haunted by the unreal half-memories of his waking nightmare.  He lay on the bank of a River, this time filthy with a mixture of dirt and ichor.  Finrod forced himself to wash in the water, mechanically going through the motions of cleansing himself.  He marked the interval between his most recent transformation and the last, and understood his curse a little better.  It seemed to grow with the full moon, but this knowledge did not comfort him.

He wandered alongside the river for some miles and came to the Fords of Aros, which he then crossed.  And, having no better council, he continued to make his way east.  He hoped to come at length into unpeopled lands or better yet to die on his way.

What he did not intend, was to meet with an armed company traveling through Himlad. 

 

Maedhros was already preparing, after the Dagor Bragollach, for Morgoth’s defeat and the security his own lands.  Though he had not yet formed the Union of Maedhros, he had taken more often to hunting and destroying as many orcs in and around his realm as possible.  Maglor would often accompany him on these forays. 

When they came across Finrod, alone in Himlad, they did not recognize him at first.  His hair was matted and tangled, and more brown than golden from the dirt.  His skin was a patchwork of cuts, scrapes, and scars drawn tight over his now bony frame.  His usually bright expression had been exchanged for one that mimicked death.  He was, however, still recognizable as an elf.

Maedhros stopped short and dismounted from his horse.  He approached Finrod somewhat cautiously, “Who are you, and how did you come here?”

Maglor also dismounted and studied the seeming stranger in silence.

Finrod looked up at Maedhros and his face paled even more, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Maedhros looked puzzled but Maglor rapidly approached Finrod and embraced him, “Findaráto?”

“Findaráto?” Maedhros asked too, realization dawning on him.

Finrod paused for a moment, fighting the part of himself that wanted nothing more than comfort due to the fear of what he might inflict on others.  He gave in and embraced Maglor back, gripping him tightly like a lifeline, “Yes.”  He could think of nothing else to say.

“But how did you come here?” Maglor echoed.  Maedhros shrugged off the fur-lined cloak he was wearing and draped it over Finrod’s naked form.

Finrod took a long, deep breath and tried to calm the anxiety that choked at his throat when his memories flooded him all at once.  He shook his head, “I’m not sure… I’m not sure I could speak of it yet.  You should let me go.”

Both Maedhros and Maglor’s brows furrowed and they looked at each other, equally worried.  “Leave you?  Of course not.  Come, let’s return back to Himring and we can get you to the healers,” Maedhros said.

Finrod tried to protest again but neither Maedhros nor Maglor would have it.  Maglor lifted Finrod onto his horse, and noted with unease how unusually light he was.  They all road quickly back to Himring together.

 

Maglor escorted Finrod to the healers where he was tended to with gentle diligence.  After he was given food and a proper bath, Maglor patiently began to untangle Finrod’s hair with a comb as they sat together in silence. 

When he had subdued the last snarl, Maglor braided Finrod’s hair into one long plait and let it hang down his back, “You should rest now.”

Finrod looked at Maglor strangely, “No, I should leave.  But, thank you.”

“Findaráto, why do you keep saying you have to leave?  What happened?  Please tell me, you can trust me—as long as,” Maglor’s voice lowered, “as long as it has nothing to do with the Oath.”

Finrod closed his eyes and shook his head, “It was my own oath.  And I fulfilled it.”

“Just rest then, maybe we can speak more tomorrow,” Maglor, however, did not make as though to leave.  There was a warning in his heart against leaving Finrod alone, though he could not say why.  At least, he wanted to make sure Finrod didn’t make good on his word to run off into the night.

Finrod stared at him and when he understood that Maglor meant to stay, he laid himself down on the bed in the room he was provided and resigned himself to sleep.  Although he was greatly distressed, he was exhausted enough that sleep soon took him.  His dreams were dark, but not so horror-filled as they had been.

 

Finrod stayed silent the next day, and the next.  Many times Maglor urged Finrod to speak of what had happened, as did Maedhros, but he would not.  Maglor also observed that as they walked sometimes under the stars at night, Finrod would often gaze at the moon—not with wonder, but with fear. 

One evening, Finrod joined them both for dinner, though he ate little.  Maedhros and Maglor chatted together over their meal regarding plans for another orc hunting party.  At whiles, Maedhros turned to Finrod, “I’ve sent word to Fingon and others that you’re here.”

“I wish you hadn’t,” Finrod sighed, “I can’t stay.”

Maedhros tapped the fingers of his left hand on the table, “Finrod, please will you tell us what happened?  At least in part?  Can you not stay because you’re returning to Nargothrond?”

“I will never be able to go back there.”

Maglor frowned, “Why?”

Finrod closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Alright, I will try to tell you some of what happened,” he took a long drink of the nearly untouched goblet of wine next to him and paused for a few moments, gathering himself and his thoughts.

Maedhros and Maglor watched him carefully and Maedhros refilled his goblet with the carafe of wine next to him.  Finrod opened his eyes and when he began to speak, his voice sounded strange and distant.  He spoke first of his oath to Barahir and his kin.  He told of Beren and his coming to Nargothrond and of the quest for the Silmaril.  Finrod’s voice lowered to just above a whisper as he spoke of their capture by Sauron and his time in Tol-in-Gaurhoth.  Here he stopped again and there was silence for many minutes.  Neither Maglor nor Maedhros interrupted Finrod, hoping he would continue on his own when he was ready.  At last Finrod recounted his struggle with the werewolf and told even up to the death of the monster, but no further.  He fell silent again and would speak no more.

“That’s enough for tonight, perhaps you should retire to bed now,” Maglor said, breaking the silence.

Finrod nodded wearily and did not resist when Maglor led him back to his room.

 

Maedhros came to him early in the morning and was sitting in a chair by his bed when Finrod awoke.  He sat up, “Maedhros?”

“I told Maglor to go to bed.”

“He’s been here every night,” Finrod remarked.

“Does that surprise you?” Maedhros countered.

“No,” Finrod hesitated, “No, it doesn’t.”

Maedhros leaned forward and caught Finrod’s gaze with his keen eyes, “Finrod, you know I too have suffered under the enemy, and while I know that what you have spoken is _part_ of what troubles you, I also know there is more.  Maglor would not challenge you on this point, but I will.  What happened after you fought the werewolf?  None of what you have told us accounts for why you are _here_.  What did they do to you?”

Finrod flinched reflexively, and slumped back against the headboard, “Of course you’re right, as ever,” Finrod smiled ironically, “or should I say for once?” he paused, “yes, there is more.  After I fought the beast, I felt my life leave me.  I expected to find the Halls,” another pause, “Instead I awoke, bloody and bruised on the banks of the Sirion,” Finrod looked down at his hands, “I don’t remembered everything that happened in between, but I remember more than I would like.  I become one of them, Nelyo, I was a werewolf.  I killed—I ate—I couldn’t stop myself.”

Maedhros reached out and took one of Finrod’s hands in his but Finrod quickly drew back, “No, I need to leave.  There’s more.  I ran, I ran hoping to keep myself away from anyone I might hurt.  I couldn’t go back to Nargothrond, I can’t.  So I traveled through Nan Dungortheb,” he closed his eyes again, “The horror of that place chilled me, but when the full moon rose I become a werewolf again—and I was more terrible than the cursed inhabitants of that valley.  I didn’t mean to come here, I was heading away from Beleriand, why couldn’t I have just died?” He looked up at Maedhros now, full of grief.

“I would be lying if I said I hadn’t asked myself the same question.  But we have to fight.”

“Fight? I can’t control whom I fight now, I might kill, I might kill _you_ and not know it.  No, I would know it, but could not prevent it.”

“You said you transformed when the moon was full?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will have you locked in a cell when the full moon rises, and we will guard you so you can’t harm anyone.”

“If I break free…”

“You won’t.”

Finrod looked him hard in the eyes now, considering.  It had not been in his nature to give up, and he did _want_ to fight.  However, he couldn’t bear the thought of causing harm to any but the enemy, let alone those he loved.  He nodded slowly, “Very well.  But you must promise me Nelyo, if do get loose, if I do any harm—you must slay me.”

Understanding passed between them and Maedhros nodded slowly in answer, “Very well.”

“Swear it.”

“Haven’t I sworn enough oaths already?  But fine, I swear it.”

“Good.  Now please, speak of none of this to Maglor, I don’t want—”

“He has to know, Findaráto.”

Finrod relented and dropped his face into his hands, “Yes, I suppose if I am to stay here he must know,” he looked up again, “Still, I will tell him myself and… and I don’t want him to be there when I change, please Nelyo, I don’t want him to see.”

Maedhros nodded, “Very well,” he stood, “Now, come to breakfast.”

 

Finrod ate more than he had in a long time, and a small amount of hope and defiance entered his heart.  Still, he was uneasy—the next full moon was only two nights away. 

Maedhros eyed Finrod over their meal and Finrod knew he was wondering when he would speak with Maglor.  Finrod took an extra serving of bread and returned Maedhros’s gaze, “I will speak with him tonight.”

 

When night came, Maglor followed Finrod to his room still out of concern that he would leave.  Maglor could tell, however, that something had passed between Maedhros and Finrod.  Something had changed.

Finrod sat on his bed and Maglor sat down on the chair next to it.  “I don’t want to push you, Findaráto, but will you speak now?”

“I told Nelyo I would, but it is difficult.”

“There was a time when we would tell each other everything.”

“Yes, and it is that which makes this so hard now,” Finrod smiled sadly. 

Finrod began to speak slowly and with effort.  However, in the end he told Maglor everything—up to the struggle in Tol-in-Gaurhoth and all that had happened after.  He only omitted the oath he had made Maedhros swear.

Maglor tried to keep a neutral face, but he paled at Finrod’s description of his transformation and his deeds.  When Finrod had finished speaking, Maglor leaned forward and embraced him once more.  “You have suffered much, but we will keep you safe here.  Perhaps we can even find a cure.”

“Perhaps, but I fear not all hurts can be healed, nor all curses broken.”

Maglor pulled back, “No, but we will still try,” he took Finrod’s hand in his, “I promise.”

Finrod did not withdraw his hand, but shook his head, “No, no more oaths please.  But thank you, you and your brother have comforted me.  I’m not going to run now.”

 

When the night of the full moon arrived, Finrod was locked in a dark cell below Himring and guarded by Maedhros and a few of his most trusted warriors.  Maglor was not among them, though he had argued long with Maedhros on this point. 

Maedhros now watched as Finrod’s body was contorted and stretched into a form three times his size and many times more horrible.  The creature that stared back at him with its long fangs and yellow eyes was not Finrod.  And it did not know him.

The werewolf howled and drove relentlessly against the door in an attempt to free itself.  It clawed and bit uselessly against the dwarf-forged iron bars.  Maedhros kept his sword unsheathed with the tip pointed toward it all throughout the night.  Fortunately, the wolf-prison held and he was not forced to make good on his oath.  Maedhros was thankful both for Finrod’s sake and for being saved from more kinslaying.

When the morning came, Finrod lay drained and exhausted on the floor.  He was not covered this time in blood but only bruises.  He felt terrible, but at the same time relieved.  Slowly, he made his way to his hands and knees, “Nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Maedhros confirmed.

 

Maedhros helped Finrod to his room where Maglor was waiting for him.  Maglor rose from his chair and walked over to Finrod who was leaning heavily on Maedhros.  He wrapped an arm around him and helped him into bed.  Finrod collapsed down and fell almost immediately into a deep sleep.

Maglor looked worried again, “He’s hurt.”

“Yes, but he hurt no one.  He will heal, better now that he has hope.  I will go fetch one of the healers though to put your mind at ease,” Maedhros turned and left.

 

And so Finrod stayed in Himring, and for a time his curse was contained.  It was only when the Nirnaeth came that his hopes were destroyed, along with those of all his people.  They were scattered, and where now would be safe—if not for him then from him?  He passed east again, into the region of Lindon.  What became of him then, none know for certain.  However, it was often said in after-days among Gil-galad’s people, that at the time of the full moon, it was not only the wolves that howled.


End file.
